


Guilty Pleasures

by katiebour



Category: Dragon Age
Genre: Birthday Presents, F/M, Masturbation, Strip Tease
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-17
Updated: 2011-05-17
Packaged: 2017-10-20 18:27:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/215807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katiebour/pseuds/katiebour
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela buys Hawke a stripper for her birthday.  Hawke <i>does not want.</i>  She and Fenris escape the party and go back to his place, where she finds out what a <i>real</i> strip-tease is all about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Guilty Pleasures

**Author's Note:**

> _me cupis, amatrix?_ \- Are you eager for me, lover?
> 
>  _Futuebo ego te_ \- I’m going to fuck you.
> 
>  _Crisare_ \- move your hips against me (only used for women; I love the fact that Latin has an untranslatable verb to describe a woman fucking back against the guy who’s fucking her. )
> 
> (I don’t speak/write Arcanum(Latin)- this is my best guess based on a few hours of research here and there. All mistakes are mine.)

Kit put her face in her palm, blushing bright red. The scantily-clad ( _Clad? Do a pair of tassels and a tiny triangle count as clad?_ she wondered) woman continued to sway suggestively, legs bent nearly to the ground, unmentionables nearly at Kit's eye level.

"Happy birthday, Hawke!" Isabela's voice rang out, merrily. "Give her a lap dance for me, Betsy!"

Kit let out a strangled sound, and tried to raise her eyes _posthaste_ from the woman's heeled shoes to her face, smiling awkwardly. _Please, please, no lap dance,_ she begged silently, and something of her thoughts must have shown on her face. The dancer gave her a friendly wink and a nod, and blowing Kit a kiss, slid sinuously into Merrill's lap.

"Oh, my," the elf said, "That's... very kind of you! How do those stay on, oh-" The dancer shimmied spicily, widening Merrill's eyes and silencing any further queries. The catcalls in main room of the Hanged Man rose to a fevered pitch, matching the heat climbing into Merrill's cheeks as the dancer gave her a practiced kiss. Isabela cheered again, yelling over the crowd, "Save some for me, Kitten!" It wasn't clear whether 'Bela was referring to the dancer or the elf, but either way, Kit had had enough birthday celebration for one night. She caught Fenris' eye, and he nodded, saying something quietly to Varric.

Kit didn't stay to see what kind of distraction Varric would come up with; he knew she hated crowds, however, and as a gift to her, he'd promised to help her and Fenris slip out early, Isabela's 25th-birthday-party-plans be damned.

Kit took a deep breath of air, gratefully, as she exited the tavern, Fenris on her heels. He let out the breath he'd been holding, and the two shared a small smile and a moment of understanding.

"Maker, I'm glad to be out of there! I know 'Bela means well, but I'd just as soon have drinks and cake and a few hands of Wicked Grace with just the ten of us."

"Her choice of entertainment was...interesting," Fenris commented as they made their way back to Hightown.

Kit rolled her eyes. "You know 'Bela- if she'd like an exotic dancer, she thinks that _everyone_ would like an exotic dancer. I guess I'm lucky she didn't decide to take on the role herself."

Fenris lifted an eyebrow at that, but said nothing.

Kit looked at him, a sudden thought striking her. "Did- did you like it?"

He gave her the Look. "I did not," he replied, curtly. "To have a complete, nearly nude stranger pawing at you? I confess the supposed appeal escapes me."

"But she was very nicely built," Kit insisted, playing the devil's advocate. "If I enjoyed looking at women in that way I'm sure I'd have liked it more."

Fenris looked over at her with a mix of amusement and annoyance. "Are you trying to convince me to enjoy the sight of other naked women?"

They stopped in front of Fenris' mansion. "When you put it like that, no," Kit conceded.

"I've seen enough flesh for sale for one lifetime," Fenris replied. "But flesh for barter, perhaps-" He cut his eyes to hers and flashed her a slightly wicked smile.

Kit raised an eyebrow in mock affront. "Barter? I don't think you can afford me."

He turned and pulled her to him, his lips capturing hers. Kit gasped as the heat between them travelled to her belly, starting the low burn of desire. He pulled back, then, and with another suggestive smile, said, "I might even have a bottle of wine to share."

"Done!" Kit said, her mouth tugging upwards at his unusually relaxed banter.

They settled in front of the fireplace, Kit lighting the tinder and wood with a word and a slight gesture. Fenris grimaced slightly at her use of magic, but removed his gauntlets, setting them on his table, and brought over a pair of wineglasses and a bottle.

"Wineglasses?" Kit looked at him with a smile. "Well, aren't we the pair of snotty nobles."

Fenris grinned and poured the wine into the glasses, handing her one. "It _is_ your birthday," he pointed out, leaning casually against the table.

"Do I get a present for my birthday?" she asked him, eyes innocently wide.

"Perhaps," he said with a smile, "As long as you're not expecting a... what was it- lap dance?"

Kit choked on a mouthful of wine.

********************************************************************************************************

After a few moments of coughing, eyes nearly streaming, she took a few deep breaths. "Now _there's_ an image," she grinned at him.

"Don't get your hopes up," he replied dryly.

Kit giggled, the wine and drinks at the Hanged Man beginning to catch up with her. "Oh, not like that, anyway. That dancer didn't have a clue about the finer points of it, anyway."

Fenris toyed with the stem of his empty wineglass. "Is that so," he replied, amused.

"Of course!" Kit answered, "To be an effective tease, you have to be a little more coy than that- only give your audience what they want once they're begging for it. Or maybe not even then- you have to keep the power firmly in your hands. Show them what they want, draw it out, until they're driven wild with desire." She licked her lips, and Fenris noticed she was glancing at his arms, eyes moving to where his fingers toyed with the wineglass.

Something devilish sparked in him, and he moved slowly, setting the wineglass on the table, watching as her eyes tracked his fingers.

"Teasing, you say?" He pitched his voice just a bit lower, noticing the hitch in her breath as she drew her eyes slowly to his. Once he had her attention, his hand went to the buckle that held his breastplate on, at his side, expertly unfastening it. As the leather loosed from around his side, he bent his head, lifting the plate over his head. He set it on the table, then brushed a lock of hair out of his eyes, his eyes meeting hers for just a moment. He bent his head, then, hands falling to his belt, languidly unwinding the leather from around his waist. Fenris let the belt slide down his hips, knowing that her eyes traced its path hungrily, then turned to set it on the table behind him.

The leather vest, nearly sleeveless except for the feathered shoulders that concealed metal plates, was next, and he rolled his shoulders, letting it slide down his arms with a whisper of leather against skin, catching it with the tips of the fingers on one hand, bringing it around in front of him to fold and set on the chair next to him. Clad now only in his sleeveless black tunic and skintight leggings, he eyed her in challenge, her chest rising and falling with increasingly shallow breaths.

Fenris then brought his hands to his collar, nonchalantly undoing the top toggle on his tunic. His hands went to the next toggle, and he drew the movement out, slowly popping the enameled bar out of the silken loop. As he continued to slowly open his tunic, he noticed her eyes lingering on his chest, markings shining in the firelight.

Once he had the fastenings completely undone, he pulled the tunic open and back, slightly, sides tight against his lean, muscled torso, watching as she swallowed, golden eyes looking up at him with desire. " _Me cupis, amatrix_?" he asked, softly. He let the tunic fall to the floor and leaned back casually against the table, watching as her eyes skimmed over him, hearing the little sound she made in the back of her throat as she noticed the curve of him, hard against his hip, covered only in the thin black cloth of his leggings.

"Can I have my present now?" Kit asked, breathless.

"No," he replied, and smiled a satyr's smile.

Fenris smoothed a lyrium-lined palm over himself, hearing her breath stutter, his other hand behind him on the table's edge. He cupped his length and squeezed, gently, his hips undulating into the movement. He repeated the slow movement, closing his eyes and tilting his head up, her obvious desire a slow burn in him.

She did moan, then, and he tipped his head back down, emerald eyes meeting golden, watching as she rucked up her skirt, her hand disappearing into her smalls.

********************************************************************************************************

Fenris continued to massage himself through the cloth, then slipped his hand underneath the waist of his leggings, stroking himself from base to tip, once, twice, letting out a hoarse moan as her fingers sped up.

They were both beginning to pant, and as he watched her, stroking himself, moving his hips into his hand, she pulled her hand out long enough to pull her smalls to her knees with a few quick movements. She bent forward, then, and pulled them to her ankles before stepping out of them and tossing them to the side.

Kit leaned back into her chair, then, and pulled her skirt tight around her hips. Her index and middle fingers slid into her lightly furred slit, the swollen lips surrounding her fingers as she increased her pace.

Fenris let go of himself and pulled his hands to his waistband, tugging it down slowly, oh, so slowly, revealing his hips, the delicate tracery of the marks winding their way down the tops of his thighs, the thin trail of black hair that led to the base of his cock. He could see in her eyes how much she wanted to touch him, and so he touched himself, rubbing his palm over his belly in a slow circle, then slipping a hand down to cup his balls, using the other to pull himself gently from the confines of his leggings. His cock curved up against his belly, gleaming in the firelight, and he began to stroke himself, short, slow strokes between thumb and his first two fingers.

Kit moaned, " _Fenris_ ," her tone begging, pleading, as she slipped two fingers inside herself. In response he cupped his fingers around the underside of his cock, continuing with languid, slow movements to cradle and caress himself. As her breathing sped up, he could tell that neither of them would last much longer. As he pulled down and stepped out of his leggings, her hand stilled, and she spread her legs in open invitation.

Fenris crooked a finger at her, eyes dark with desire, and she rose slowly from the chair, and walked to him. He grabbed her by the hips and pulled her tight against him, grinding his cock against her front as she moaned.

" _Futuebo ego te_ ," he growled, and pulled her around, lifting her bodily onto the table. He spread her legs with his hips, and leaning in, pushed into the hot, wet entrance of her body. They both cried out with the sensation, and then he was pushing, pumping, grinding into her, pulling her torso close to his, biting her neck, suckling as he continued to thrust. She whimpered against him, bucking a little, and he whispered into her ear, " _Crisare_."

She didn't know what he was saying, didn't care, and with one around her back, the other against her buttocks, he urged her against him, to meet his thrusts with her body. She ground herself against him with each thrust, panting, "Fenris, yes, oh, _yes_ ," and then she was crying out, falling over the edge, as he thrust harder and faster before going rigid in her arms. He pushed as far, as hard as he could, his cries of climax matching the desperate thrusts of his hips, spilling himself deeply inside of her.

His head dropped to her shoulder, and for several minutes they stood there, bodies sweaty, entwined, as he whispered soft endearments in her ear, and she held him to her, so tightly, one hand smoothing over his silvery white hair. He finally released her, moving gently back, laying a soft kiss on her lips. "Happy birthday," he said, smiling.

"It is now," she answered with a grin.


End file.
